


Here and Now

by shadowrogue



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Assassination Attempt(s), Blood and Violence, Character Study, Choking, City Elf (Dragon Age) Origin, Established Relationship, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Internal Monologue, Rogue Warden (Dragon Age), Sensuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:28:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28579758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowrogue/pseuds/shadowrogue
Summary: A moment between Tabris and Zevran is interrupted by an attempt on his life.
Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Female Tabris, Zevran Arainai/Female Warden
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	Here and Now

Anja sighed, content as she laid back against her lover's chest, treasuring the now familiar way he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. She closed her eyes and smiled, shivering in delight as he pressed a tender kiss to her shoulder, followed by a nip to her ear before nuzzling her neck affectionately.

 _"Te amo,"_ he whispered.

She didn't know what that meant. She would have to ask him in the morning. But the phrase seemed to be one of endearment, his voice wholly enamored.

" _Te amo_ , Zevran."

She felt him still as if stunned, a pleasurable shudder running through his body as he squeezed her tightly, enveloping her entire being with his own, his face buried against her hair. One of his hands rose to brush it aside, fingers gliding over the earring he had given her.

She adored that small trinket. She truly did. It was a piece of him she could carry with her, wherever she went. A reminder that she wasn't fighting this war alone. In daylight it shimmered against the contrast of her skin, shining brightly; a symbol of their partnership for all to see.

Wynne had been the first to notice its transfer of ownership, a knowing glint in her eyes. Morrigan, on the other hand, had simply scoffed, choosing not to comment.

The faintest snore arose, directly in Anja's ear. She rolled her eyes, bemused. How Zevran fell asleep so easily would always be a mystery to her. Already she listened as his breathing evened out, his hold on her loosening, his thunderous heartbeat slowing.

Hers still raced, her entire body electrified from the many ways he'd moved against her tonight, nails raking down her sides, tongue finding hidden, secret places that made her whimper his name towards the stars. She turned in his embrace, gazing up at him. He looked so at peace in his sleep; the hard lines of his face softened, his silky hair loose from its braids. It was golden blonde like rich summer wheat, even in the dark. She tucked a single strand aside, fingertips tracing the lines of his tattoos, her heart fluttering, full to bursting just from his nearness.

Damn it all to the Black City - she was in _love_ with this man, so dearly and completely that it threatened to overwhelm all matters of intrinsic common sense.

She certainly hadn't meant to fall for the likes of him. Her would-be assassin? No, not even in her wildest fantasies. But she had, and now she was in far too deep to ever let him go. She wanted a life with him, whatever that may entail. Whether they settled down somewhere or simply stayed on the road forever; so long as he was there, standing by her side, she would be happy.

She would be whole.

There was still the possibility though that one or both of them might not emerge alive from the coming battle. He had more scars than she could count, and terrified her with the way he always leapt into the fray as if he were invincible, as skilled as he was cocky.

Not to mention the fact that on top of darkspawn, they also had the damned Crows to worry about. The Antivan guild of killers wanted her beloved dead for his desertion - and in theory, that was a frightfully simple task, considering Anja couldn't sense them coming the way she could the monstrous and the damned.

People were terrifying that way.

Humans a Blight all their own.

But if they _should_ somehow manage to survive such terrible odds, then perhaps...perhaps-

Did she even _dare_ to dream such? That they could find their own little corner of paradise in a world so void of it? A place where they belonged?

She swallowed hard, eyes watering as she shifted on her bedroll, feeling the weight of Nelaros' tarnished wedding band as it rolled against her collar. She twisted its simple chain with a single finger, guilt like solid stone settling in the pit of her stomach. Untangling her limbs from Zevran's, she reached for her leggings and tunic, pulling them on.

The night air was cool but not cold, the white moonlight piercing the overhead trees as brown, curled leaves drifted lazily through the air. They crunched beneath her feet as she wandered towards the sound of the nearby river.

Its bridge had seen better days, weathered in places, boards loose and creaking from the pressure of her steps. She took her necklace off and settled against the railing, forearms pressing into the wood as she fiddled with the iron band, passing it back and forth between her calloused hands.

Beneath her the water bubbled, a soothing noise, the current black. Somewhere out in the forest a toad croaked, an owl bristled its feathers, a lone wolf howled. It was so simple and serene out here, so different from the loud bustle of the Denerim streets. As a child she'd often daydreamed about running away to find the Dalish. Now, having traveled through the woods and mountaintops for months on end, having learned how to hunt and live off the land, she could only imagine what her life would've been like had she actually found them.

She had no doubt in her mind - not only would she have survived - she would have _thrived_.

It was a rather disconcerting realization.

Because if she'd only had the courage to flee the city all those years ago, then the accursed tale of the 'Bride of Denerim' would've never come to pass. There never would've _been_ a blighted wedding, and the boisterous festivities of the alienage would've never caught the attention of Vaughan and his cronies.

Shianni would be untouched, unharmed.

Nelaros - Maker watch over him - would still be alive.

She squeezed his ring, the exhaustion from carrying it around all the time piercing in its immensity, her poor heart aching. Which was silly. It wasn't as if she'd loved him. She'd barely even known her intended. But the stranger had seemed sweet. Simple and kind. Naive but intelligent. So excited for marriage and a family to call his own.

Then he'd gone and died a violent, horrendous death, all because of _her_ ; trying to save the pitiful, meaningless life of a thief. Even though he'd been nothing but a skinny, untrained slip of a thing.

He'd probably never held a sword prior to that day, yet had boldly risen one for her. In doing so, he'd died a hero in her eyes. Someone who, for whatever reason, had risked life and limb to be her champion.

Was he at peace now? Had she avenged him?

Did it even matter? He was still dead, either way. Simply a haunted memory now, following her around wherever she went. Nelaros was a grim reminder of the life which had been stolen from her. The reason she now had taint in her blood and monsters in her head.

And planning a future with Zevran, feeling _any_ semblance of joy...simply resurfaced all she wished to bury, time and time again.

Granted, if she _had_ run, if she had chosen to live amongst the nomadic elves, then she never would have been in the Wilds outside of Ostagar, and Alistair may very well have been slaughtered - no more than a pile of bones lost to time. The night of her Joining she had blocked a blow meant for his skull. _She_ had been the one to bandage his wounds.

How many lives had the two of them saved over these past few months? How many hurlocks no longer roamed free, torturing and ripping their way through small, defenseless townsfolk, all because of her? Because she'd been thrust into this roll, this life?

The breeze blew in whispers against her scarred cheeks. She felt the weight of her earring as it teetered against the breeze and took a deep breath, a feeling of calm washing over her.

 _Zev_...

Her chaos. Her peace. She never would have even met him. Never would've known his crooked smile or the sound of his laughter. Never would have felt his arms caressing her bare skin in the dead of night, his lips pressed to hers, stealing her breath, making her soul sing.

"I'm _exactly_ where I'm supposed to be," she snarled under her breath, defiant as she willed away her sorrows, this time once and for all.

It wasn't the life she would have chosen for herself. Call it destiny, claim it fate. No matter the case, _this_ was her path now. Dark and bloody; cruel and bleak; misery surrounding the lot of them from every side.

Even so, she wouldn't change a thing.

The past was history, meant to be remembered and learned from. But ghosts?

Ghosts had no place in the here and now.

Hands shaking, she dropped the ring, watching it fall to the river below. Silently it faded into oblivion, an invisible burden lifting from her shoulders as she curled her fingers around nothing but empty air, eyes watering with relief.

Ready for whatever came next.

Perhaps a future worth living.

_"Anja!"_

She startled, turning towards the sound of Zevran's panicked voice. He stood at the foot of the bridge, hair disheveled, eyes wide, barely more dressed than she, his feet still bare. He had one of his sabers gripped tightly in hand, which dropped to the ground with a clamor as he ran to her.

The force of his embrace nearly knocked her over. She clung to him in return, listening to him mutter a string of foreign words she didn't understand, feeling him tremble.

"I woke up and you were _gone_." His voice was laced with frustration as he cradled the back of her head. "Do not frighten me like that, _amor_. When I couldn't find you, I assumed the worst."

"So _dramatic_ ," she teased, "I only-"

He tilted her chin and kissed her deeply, giving her no further chance to reply, his hand pressing the small of her back, arching her against him. She couldn't help but moan into his mouth at the possessive and desperate way he laid claim to her, turning to cage her against the railing.

She'd learned long ago that _this_ was the language he turned to whenever words ran dry in his mind. That the distraction of sex helped to numb his fears, his worries - of which he had many, though spoke of seldom. It was, without a doubt, the purest and most primal form of escapism. Yet she was all too eager to indulge in it. To ease his mind and body. To reassure him that she was all right. That she wasn't going anywhere, and would never leave his side.

For better or worse.

_Oh, how I love you._

It was all she could think, one hand braced on his lean waist for balance, a fistful of linen twisted in her fingers, the other lost in his tangled bed-hair.

_How did I ever live without you?_

She wanted to stay in this moment forever, safe in his arms, deliriously caught up in the bliss of his fevered kiss.

The river raced behind them, her heart pounding in synchrony with her own panting sighs as clothing began to shift. That cornucopia of sound was pure music to her ears, drowning out all else, the rest of the world falling away as he gripped her leg and hoisted it up.

It was foolish, of course, to let their guard down so far from camp. Lost in one another, they never heard the brush shift, a lone figure stalking through the thorns. The notching of an arrow was silent amongst their heavy breathing, the draw of a bow string soundless.

Had it not been for the sharp _crack_ of a twig, perhaps they'd both be seated at the Maker's side come morning. As it were, instead she felt her paramour stiffen, ears twitching as he shoved her away - suddenly and without warning. She fell to the bridge, her hip knocking against a broken beam as she heard the _zip_ of a projectile, followed by Zevran's pained cry as a black arrowhead pierced his shoulder. There was a spurt of blood as he ripped it out. With a growl he tossed it aside, turning to sprint for his saber.

Anja saw the unnamed Crow charge from the treeline long before he did, pulling free a dagger from their waistband. Her heart stopped in that moment, her world threatening to collapse all around her. She scrambled to her feet, praying to Andraste she was fast enough.

_"No!"_

Her arms wrapped the assailant's waist just in time. They toppled to the forest floor over the side of the ravine, mud blinding her eyes as she narrowly dodged the swipe of the incoming knife. She threw out her fist as they landed on the bank, connecting with the center of the assassin's face. Fragile bones shattered beneath her knuckles. His cowl fell away as he fumbled, dropping his blade, revealing an older shem with hatred burning in his eyes as his nose ran red. He retaliated angrily, using his superior mass to pin her down as he messily straddled her hips.

"You little knife-eared _bitch_."

Gloved hands encircled her neck. Anja panicked, gasping as pressure began to fill her chest. One of her hands clawed his thigh to no avail as the other pawed desperately at the sand, unable to gain purchase as the damp ground dipped and crumbled.

The corners of her vision quickly started to blur, hazy at the seams, the moon all wrong - dim and misshapen.

A hot splatter of blood struck her face as she began to pass out, air rushing into her lungs so suddenly it felt _forced_. Jagged. She coughed, struggling to reorient herself as she noted the crimson-slick sword sticking out from the man's chest. Behind him her love stood tall and terrifying, his face contorted with a unique brand of rage she'd never seen in him before. He yanked his saber free as the man fell away.

Simply one more corpse, left in the wake of a killer.

Zevran fell to his knees beside her in an instant, his left arm utterly useless, paralyzed as if by poison, his wrap drenched. He cupped her cheek in his palm, eyes frantic as he scanned her for injuries.

"Tabris, look at me! Up here. Are you hurt, _cariño_? Can you _breathe_?"

Her throat felt tight. It hurt to swallow, like she had shards of glass lodged in it. She nodded, grimacing as she slowly forced herself into an upright position.

"You're bleeding," she pointed out, her voice a strained, hoarse whisper.

She reached feebly towards the dead Crow, tearing off the hem of his cloak. Wadding up the fabric, she pressed it to Zevran's shoulder. He winced, shaking his head dismissively.

"This? This is nothing. I'll live."

"You better," she mouthed sternly.

He smiled at that, helping her to stand, but it was a painted expression, the sort of carefree mask he wore around the others. She recognized it immediately. Begrudgingly, he kept pressure against his wound with the small bit of cloth as they walked back to camp, the forest around them once more at peace, disturbed only by their footsteps. Eventually his face fell, crestfallen, almost as if ashamed.

"I feel the need to apologize," he said quietly as they approached Wynne's tent, "I was that man's target, not you. Being with me...it puts you in danger."

"I'm _always_ in danger." Anja had to force her words out, but did so with a playful hint of a grin, knowing she would be good as new after their mage worked her magic. Seriously, she added, "Being with you simply makes it worthwhile."

She reached for his hand, his warmth solid, the feeling of devotion tangible when he held it in return, bringing it up to his lips.

He pressed a single kiss to her knuckles, followed by another to the inner turn of her wrist...

...where her pulse once more began to race.

**Author's Note:**

> Spare kudos for a humble bard, Serah?


End file.
